


last night i saw my world explode

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Crying, Free! Kink Meme, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The violence isn't that bad, a lot of it, but i wanted to warn just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>He’s staring out into space, thinking about how maybe, just maybe, if Makoto wasn’t holding the umbrella, he might finally gather the courage to make a discreet grab for his hand. He’s distracted enough with the idea that he doesn’t see the man come out of the shadows and grab Makoto from behind, dragging him into an alley, until it’s too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	last night i saw my world explode

**Author's Note:**

> kink meme fill for [this prompt.](http://iwatobiswimclub.dreamwidth.org/2701.html?thread=3713933#cmt3713933)

 

“Well, I fell asleep right on top of my notes, and I didn’t set my alarm, of course. So I woke up late and didn’t even have time to pack my lunch. And then, when I walked into class late, my professor stopped the lesson and just glared until I sat down. It was so embarrassing,” Makoto groans, shoulders slumping.

“So that’s why you were so hungry,” Haru says.

Makoto nods, his face lit with the yellow streetlights. “Yeah, exactly. Their gyōza was delicious, we should really go back there sometime!”

“It was okay,” Haru allows. He’d had grilled mackerel, but it wasn’t exceptional or anything.

“But Haru’s mackerel is the best, huh?” Makoto teases. Haru shrugs noncommittally. It’s true, but he’s not going to brag.

Makoto shifts the umbrella he’s currently using to shelter them both to his other hand and sighs. “I wish this rain would let up. It’s been like three days.” It’s a long walk to the train station, and Haru agrees, but he doesn’t mind the excuse the rain gives him to press up close to Makoto’s warm side.

They have dinner like this as often as they can, but their schedules are pretty demanding, and Haru hasn’t gotten to see him in almost two weeks. They’ve been in Tokyo for three months, but he still hasn’t quite adjusted to not seeing Makoto every day. He’s made a few new friends on his swim team, and he actually uses his phone to text Rin and the others now, but he still feels Makoto’s absence acutely. Sometimes he finds himself turning to tell him something, before remembering he’s not there.

He’s staring out into space, thinking about how maybe, just maybe, if Makoto wasn’t holding the umbrella, he might finally gather the courage to make a discreet grab for his hand. They’re on a nearly deserted side street, no one would notice, they’re walking so close together; it would just be for them. He’s distracted enough with the idea that he doesn’t see the man come out of the shadows and grab Makoto from behind, dragging him into an alley, until it’s too late.

“Makoto!” he shouts, running after the man as he yanks Makoto deeper into the alleyway, shielding them both behind a dumpster, his hand in an iron grip over Makoto’s mouth. The umbrella falls to the ground.

“You’ll shut up if you know what’s good for you,” the man growls, pulling a cruel-looking switchblade seemingly out of nowhere and holding it to Makoto’s throat. Haru raises his hands in surrender, feeling his blood go cold.

The guy is dirty and wild-eyed, and even bigger than Makoto. Haru’s knees buckle underneath him and he sinks to the ground, letting the rain soak through the knees of his jeans. He lets his eyes dart to Makoto’s own, which are wide and fearful. “What do you want?” Haru asks, his chest pounding.

The man jerks his chin towards Haru’s backpack. “Open up your bag and get out your wallet. Everything you’ve got.”

Haru’s heart sinks like a stone. “I don’t have – I only have a few hundred yen, we just spent the rest on dinner.” The rain is coming down pretty steadily, now, and Haru can’t shake the thought of the last time he almost lost Makoto in the rain.

The point of the knife presses against Makoto’s jugular, a thin rivulet of blood running down his neck. Haru watches frozen in place as the rain turns the blood dripping onto his collar pink. “Quit fooling around,” the man hisses. “I’m not the most patient person in the world, you know. You don’t want your friend here to be in the way when my patience runs out, do you?”

Haru feels icy fingers of terror run up his spine. “No! Please,” he gasps out. His lungs feel like they’re collapsing, his breath coming short. He haphazardly unzips his bag and turns it upside-down, all of his notes and books falling to the ground with a wet splat. “I promise, we don’t have anything, I paid for our meals and this is what was left over.” He hastily pulls some change out of his pocket, holding his hand out. It’s shaking so badly that one of the coins drop into a puddle with a wet _clink_.

The man laughs harshly. “You’ll have to do better than _that_.” Haru feels his throat constrict, feeling like he’s swallowed the knife in the man’s hand.

Makoto tries to say something, his voice muffled – the mugger lowers his hand to grip his jaw roughly, but lets him speak. “I’m going to turn out my pockets,” Makoto says, his voice measured and steady. He carefully reaches down, mindful of the knife to his neck, to do just that. He sounds a lot calmer than Haru feels. “We don’t have anything to offer you. Please, just let us go. We won’t say a word –”

Haru can’t hear what Makoto says after that over the roar of blood pounding in his ears, watching as the blade presses harder, causing a little more blood to trickle out, and he doesn’t think, just drops to the ground, forehead to the gravel in a deep formal bow.

“Please,” Haru begs, voice high-pitched and tight, sounding nothing like his own. “Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt him.” He squeezes his burning eyes shut – he’s not sure if he’s crying or if it’s just the rain until his next words come out as a sob. “Just let him _go_. If you still don’t believe me I can take you back to my apartment and you can have anything, just don’t – don’t hurt him, you have to let him go, I’m begging you, _please,_ I _love_ him,” he pleads, his voice breaking, words tumbling out of his mouth uncontrollably. He hears Makoto inhale sharply and swallows hard, knowing he’s probably said too much, but he doesn’t raise his head.

The mugger laughs, sounding coldly amused at Haru’s begging. “I don’t _have_ to do anything, boy.”

“I know, but I’m – he’s barely seen your face, I’m the one you want! If you’re worried we’ll go to the police, if y-you’re going to kill someone, kill _me_ , just – just let him go home,” Haru chokes out, hot tears running down his cheeks in earnest now.

“ _Haruka!”_ Makoto cries out, sounding terrified for the first time. Haru can’t remember the last time he called him by his full name. “He doesn’t mean that, he won’t go to the police, _please._ We just want to go home,” he finishes, his voice cracking on the last syllable. Haru doesn’t have to see his face to know that he’s crying, now, too.

There’s silence for a minute, the only sound the pitter-patter of the rain on the pavement, a sound that Haru won’t be able to hear for a long time without thinking of this night. He still doesn’t dare look up.

Finally, a scoff. “You’re both pathetic.” The click of the switchblade closing. “And you’re not worth it. Follow me, and I promise you, you _will_ regret it.”

Haru doesn’t breathe again until the sound of the man’s footsteps fade into the distance, and as soon as they do, Makoto’s body collapses onto his prone form, wrapping his arms around him like he never wants to let go. They don’t say a word, just break down together, almost like they believe if they hold each other tight enough, they’ll both stay in one piece.

He’s not sure how long they stay there – it could be five minutes or fifteen. They’d probably look a strange sight, two grown men embracing on the ground in the rain, if anyone were there to notice. “I don’t want to go home alone,” he says eventually.

“Me neither,” Makoto says quietly, which sounds silly because he has a roommate back at his dorm, but Haru knows what he means.

They stagger up from the ground, using each other for support, and head for the train station, leaving the forgotten umbrella behind. Haru clutches Makoto’s hand, interlacing their still-trembling fingers; he notes the irony of the action, of how nervous he was earlier to do the very same thing, but it doesn’t matter anymore. They don’t speak on the train ride; they don’t have to speak to know that Makoto’s going to get off on Haru’s stop with him.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Haru wraps his arms around Makoto’s waist, pressing his face into his chest and letting out a shuddering breath.

Makoto places a comforting hand low on his back, stroking his other hand through Haru’s damp hair. “We’re okay,” he says softly. He sounds calm, at ease again now that they’re inside. It sounds like a promise.

Haru squeezes his eyes shut, still shivering. He’s not sure if he ever stopped.

“Haru-chan, look at me.” He does, tilting his head up to meet Makoto’s eyes. “We’re safe, now.”

“You weren’t.” Haru says almost before Makoto even finishes. He feels the burn of tears welling up again and tries to fight them down, along with the lump in his throat.

“Oh, Haru,” Makoto says, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. Haru hates it, hates that he’s making him worry, hates the fact that Makoto always, always, _always_ considers Haru’s feelings before his own.

“Weren’t you scared?” _Why do I still feel more scared than you_ ever _were?_

“Yes,” Makoto admits, solemn. “Of course I was. I just wanted to, I don’t know, keep him calm, so that maybe he wouldn’t consider us a threat.”

“You – you’re the one who,” _screams during scary movies, hides behind me, used to sleep with a nightlight,_ “I’m supposed to be the one comforting _you.”_

Makoto smiles. “Sometimes Haru needs to be taken care of, too.”

After they finally move from the doorway, they change into dry clothes, and Haru sticks a bandage on Makoto’s neck stubbornly even after he protests that he’s _fine, Haru, it’s really just a nick, honestly._ Eventually, the lights go off and they crawl onto Haru’s single futon, exhausted all of the turmoil. It’s a tight fit, and their sides are lined up together, but Haru’s secretly glad to have the reminder that Makoto’s right there in one piece.

“Hey, Haru,” Makoto says tentatively, after they lay in the dark for a few minutes. “Back there, you…” Haru hears him swallow. “You said that you loved me.”

Haru feels his ears warm, but he makes a low noise to show that he’s listening.

“It’s – I know that you probably only said that so that he would let us go –”

Haru sits up. “No,” he says firmly. He doesn’t care if Makoto doesn’t feel the same way – well, yes he does, but he’s not going to let him get the wrong idea. He said it, and maybe under more pleasant circumstances he wouldn’t have, but he’s not going to take it back now, like it’s something cheap.

Makoto lets out a shaky breath. “No?” he says, like he’s afraid he misheard.

“I didn’t lie. I wouldn’t. About that.”

Makoto only stares at him for a minute, his eyes wide. Haru starts to feel his face heat, but then Makoto jumps up and crushes his lips to Haru’s, cradling his head and kissing him like his life depends on it. Haru immediately melts into him, holding Makoto almost as tight as he did earlier that night. It’s desperate and clumsy and _perfect;_ it feels like two halves coming together to make a whole, and Haru knows that people say that all the time, but right now he’s irrationally certain that no one’s ever really understood, no one has ever been meant for each other like he and Makoto, the way they complement each other’s strengths and weaknesses, the way their hands fit together, the way that Haru’s childhood memories are tinted olive green, Haru-and-Makoto.

“I love you back,” Makoto murmurs against Haru’s lips, “I love you, I love you iloveyou.”

Haru just crawls into his lap and kisses him deeper, can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed because this is _them_ , there’s no need to keep up appearances; they can’t hide from each other, not anymore. He traces the seam of Makoto’s lips, licking into his mouth when it opens for him, clutching at him desperately, greedily, gratefully. Their teeth click together awkwardly and Makoto laughs, which only makes Haru kiss him harder, sliding his tongue against his, trying to memorize every corner and curve of this uncharted territory.

“I want you inside of me,” Haru says without preamble into Makoto’s mouth. It’s not – he’s not even hard yet, he just wants to feel him, to have a part of him within him, joining them together, binding them.

Makoto, predictably, rears back in shock, his face already bright red. “Haru! You can’t just say stuff like that! Be serious,” he says, sounding a bit strangled.

“I _am_ serious.” Haru says, giving him a fixed look. “Do you want to?”

Makoto covers his face with his hands in embarrassment. “Y-yes. But that’s not the problem!”

Haru pries his hands away and links them with his own, cracking a small smile at Makoto’s flustered state. “What, then?”

“It’s just. Won’t it hurt? Why don’t I try it first, so that –”

“Stop trying to steal my idea,” Haru says dryly. He’s considered it, and he’s not worried. It’s got to feel good, or else people wouldn’t do it; even if it hurts at first, he doesn’t really mind.

“I’m not –!” Makoto stops, realizing that Haru’s messing with him. “Okay, but you have to tell me if it hurts, don’t pretend that you’re fine if you’re not,” he says, looking at Haru earnestly.

Haru feels so raw and exposed tonight that he doesn’t know if he could pretend anything even if he _tried,_ but he nods his assent to satisfy Makoto.

He makes short work of his clothes as he always does, as Makoto gives a surprised yelp and struggles to keep up. Sitting back on his heels, he looks at him openly; he’s seen Makoto naked before, but not like this, flushed and stiff and fidgeting a little under his steady scrutiny. He thinks he understands Gou now when she goes on about muscles – Makoto is solid and sculpted all over like one of those statues Haru’s seen in his art textbooks, and where the hard lines of his stomach join the vee of his hips makes his fingers itch for a pencil.

Makoto’s gotten over his self-consciousness enough now to run his hands down Haru’s sides, gazing up at him like he’s something precious and cherished. He brushes over a nipple, causing Haru to jerk in surprise – he’d no idea he was so sensitive there. It makes him wonder where else he’s sensitive, what other new things he and Makoto might discover about each other like this. Makoto looks up at him, gauging his reaction, and seems to come to a decision, leaning down to take the hardened nub into his mouth, dragging the flat of his tongue over it torturously. Haru clutches at his back, his hips jolting forward in Makoto’s lap of their own accord, causing their erections to brush against each other and making them gasp out.

He lets his head fall against Makoto’s shoulder, rutting against him like that, cocks sliding together wetly with the aid of their precome, Makoto’s hands big and steady on his hips. His mind goes fuzzy, desire clouding his thoughts, before he remembers his goal.

“Hold on,” he says, swinging a leg off of Makoto’s thighs to reach for his nightstand drawer, rummaging around until he pulls out a small plastic bottle of lube.

Makoto makes a choked sound resembling a squawk. “W-what do you have that for?”

Haru shrugs, settling back on top of him. “Rin gave it to me as one of my going-away presents.”

“One of your going-away presents?” Makoto echoes faintly.

“Yeah. He said that I ought to get a lot of use out of it in college and winked a lot. I just use it to masturbate sometimes, but I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

Makoto looks at a loss for words, but Haru’s done talking about Rin, now. He kisses his half-open mouth, pushing the bottle into his hand to try and make him get with the program; thankfully, he does, flicking the top open and rubbing some onto his fingers, tracing around Haru’s rim, just enough to tease, and Haru lets out a shuddering breath. Makoto starts to press feathery kisses along his jawline, probably in an attempt to distract him from the fingers he’s slowly working inside him, but it’s not painful. A little strange maybe, but he’s done this to himself before, so it’s not entirely unfamiliar. But this time it’s not him in the dark, squeezing his eyes shut and imagining Makoto is with him, sheets bunched down around his ankles; _this_ time Makoto is here, arms steady and warm around him, and that alone is enough to make a pleasant shiver run up his spine.

Because of the position they’re in, they have nowhere else to look but each other’s eyes, and if Haru hadn’t already felt laid bare tonight, this would do the trick. He wants to hide from Makoto’s eyes on him and preen at the same time; he’s always felt transparent under Makoto’s perceptive gaze, and this time is no different. He’s comforted that every time, Makoto seems to always see something there worth treasuring.

Three fingers in, Haru is starting to feel the burn a little, but he sighs into it, opening his legs further. He wants to tell Makoto he’s ready for it, but he knows he’s going to prepare him for as long as he thinks is necessary, no matter how much Haru complains, so he doesn’t bother. He’s impatient, but the feeling of Makoto’s fingers opening him up, exploring the tender and unmapped parts of him, certainly isn’t unwelcome.

Finally, _finally_ , Makoto’s lined up against his entrance, pressing but not pushing. “Are you –”

“Yes, I’m ready, I’m sure, come on,” Haru says, kissing his reservations away. Makoto yields under his touch, and then Haru’s opening up around him, letting him in inch by gradual inch. It’s – it’s indescribable. There’s a dull ache, but Makoto’s prepared him enough that it’s not by any means unbearable. He feels filled up inside, a little like drinking hot chocolate, but not quite. He almost wants to cry at how _right_ it feels, like puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place. It takes Makoto brushing a tear from his cheek to realize he actually _is_. He’s giving Rin a run for his money tonight.

“Oh god, Haru, is it really bad? I can pull out, do you want me to pull out?” Makoto asks, his expression tense and worried.

Haru just shakes his head vehemently and exhales, overwhelmed, sinking down to the hilt of Makoto’s cock and resting his forehead against his. “You’re inside me,” he breathes out, silently willing Makoto to understand his meaning, besides the obvious.

Makoto gets it, and his eyes soften, catching and holding Haru’s gaze with his own. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” he promises firmly.

“Good,” Haru says, and raises his hips to slowly let them fall back down, making Makoto moan against his lips, one hand rubbing circles on his hipbone and the other under his ass, supporting him.

Haru’s stiff and leaking, now, but he tries to hold back, not picking up the pace too much; he wants this to last, doesn’t want to let go of the feeling of being completed like this. He’s willing to bet that Makoto’s even more desperate for release than he is, because he keeps letting out these delicious bitten-back groans, his hips shaking with the effort of holding back, but he must feel Haru’s sentiments, because he doesn’t speed up his rhythm, just slides in and out of him like a warm knife through butter.

After a while of this, though, Haru can’t take it anymore, and he reaches down to grasp his cock, relieving a bit of the torturous pressure. Makoto’s hand wraps around his, though, interlacing their fingers and guiding his strokes. His hole clenches of its own accord when a thumb brushes over the head, and that’s it for Makoto, apparently, because he gives a full body shudder and cries out Haru’s name, hips jerking and then holding tight against him. All it takes for Haru is the warm, wet sensation of Makoto’s release inside him, and he comes with a whine, his fingers and toes curling.

They come down together, sweat-damp faces pressed against each other. When Makoto softens inside him, Haru wraps his legs around his waist. “Don’t. Stay like this,” Haru says haltingly. He knows that if they sleep like this, they’ll wake up sticky and regretful tomorrow, but he doesn’t care right now, he just wants to stay as close as they can.

“Okay,” Makoto says gently, laying them down and curling around Haru’s back, still inside him.

It doesn’t take Haru long to drift off after that. He finally feels safe with Makoto warm and solid against him, his deep, restful breaths stirring the hair at the crown of Haru’s head. He doesn’t quite recall his dreams in the morning, but he does remember soft rays of sun, bright, warm sunshine. And no rain at all.

 


End file.
